


It could be lethal (sleeping with a friend)

by asleepygay



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Drunken Shenanigans, Friends to Lovers, M/M, but nothing actually happens so, rated t for like language and dirty dancing, still t i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 10:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14042061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asleepygay/pseuds/asleepygay
Summary: He’s in Steve’s room because it’s closer to the door in the apartment they share. And he’s starting to remember that they were very impatient last night.Last night. Christ-drinks are had, sex is had, feelings are had





	It could be lethal (sleeping with a friend)

**Author's Note:**

> writing dirty dancing at 10am sure is a way to start your tuesday I'll tell you that much.
> 
> this is named after and based entirely on sleeping with a friend by neon trees, because I don't know guys, i heard that song and immediately thought no powers modern au stucky, lemme know if you agree.
> 
> errors are as usual my own and probably all over the place, pretty please let me know if you find any. ty and enjoy xx

The club is dark and loud and packed and Bucky feels fucking great. Like, wasted great. Great wasted. Jesus, he forgot what going out with these assholes always turned into. There are too many of them, too good friends, too many huge, competitive personalities to get through any casual outing without incident. Add alcohol, and things get a little out of control - they’ve been removed from a bar or two in their day. And this time it’s been way too long since they’ve seen each other all at once. With everyone doing their own thing after college, it’s been years since they were all in the same city at the same time and didn’t have to be working.

But Bruce just got back from his Doctors Without Borders program, Natasha and T’Challa just got back from their respective U.N. internships, Sam is out of the service, and Clint is out of… the circus? Thinking about whatever the fuck Clint has been up to hurts Bucky’s brain, so he stops. Everyone who stayed in the city has been busy too, but Tony told his Stark Industries babysitters to fuck off for once, and Steve doesn’t teach this weekend, so they’re here, at their third club of the night, partying like they’re still in college. And Bucky forgot, but fuck do his friends go hard.

“Bucky!” Steve plops down next to him and immediately slouches into his side, and Bucky feels all lit up all of a sudden. “You’re all alone! Why’re you all alone? Whatcha thinking about?”

“You,” Bucky replies immediately, leaning back into Steve and ending up wobbling them both. He’s not one hundred percent sure why he said that, though. He was thinking about everyone, right? But Steve is part of everyone, so he doesn’t correct his statement because it wasn’t a lie. Steve doesn’t like lying, so Bucky doesn’t do it because Steve is important. And anyway, Steve looks all happy now, and that is also important.

“Hey, Bucky, did you know how much Thor can drink? I didn’t and it’s a lot.”

Bucky tries to scowl, but he can feel himself grinning so it probably isn’t working. “Steven! Did you try to out-drink Thor? He’s, Stevie he’s big. And Norwegian.”

Steve looks a little put out at that. “I’m big too! Now I’m big too.”

He is. Bucky lets himself look for a minute.

“Thor is bigger. And Norwegian.”

Steve pouts and Bucky grins, can’t help it, Steve is ridiculous and great and for some reason looks cute when he pouts even though he’s a fucking adult man. “I’m Irish! Ish. Is it like a non-American thing? Do you think Wanda can out-drink Tony?”

That, though, that’s the worst thing Bucky’s ever heard and he immediately slaps his hand over Steve’s mouth, looking around frantically. “Sh! They could hear you, and then they’ll try! Stevie I like Wanda, don’t do this to her.”

He turns his eyes back to Steve’s, which are fucking sparkling because Steve is beautiful in a very no homo way. His breath is hot against Bucky’s hand, and that makes Bucky feel some kind of way and he’s warm all over and very suddenly he needs to move. He removes his hand from Steve’s face so that he can down the rest of his drink, then grabs Steve’s hand and starts jostling him.

“Dance with me, Stevie.”

Bucky notes distantly that Steve is very drunk if he’s not even trying to complain, but that’s fine because Bucky is drunk as shit too, and he’s over the goddamn moon that Steve is going to dance with him. Dancing is the best and Steve is the best so this will be the very best, if his math is right. His math is probably right, he’s great at math.

They don’t really find a spot on the dance floor so much as they make one, because they’re both pretty big guys, and Bucky is moving to the music before they’ve fully stopped walking. Steve is moving too, loose and happy, but it’s not really on the beat or, like, good, so Bucky decides to help him because Bucky knows things about dancing. He pulls Steve in close, right up against him, and directs the motions of Steve’s body with a hand on his shoulder and on his hip. Steve rolls with it pretty easy, puts his hands on Bucky and just goes along for the ride. That makes Bucky laugh, bright and loud, because Steve normally doesn’t go with anything easy. Steve is so great to him, what a fucking guy, dancing with him just because Bucky likes it. Like this, he’s not even bad. Hell, he’s great, he feels great.

They’ve established a rhythm now, the beat of the music pounding in Bucky’s chest, his stomach, his dick. Steve’s eyes are glinting in the dark and his hands and body are strong and unyielding against Bucky’s, and every time he breathes it’s hot against Bucky’s face and neck. There’s warmth crawling through Bucky’s body from his abdomen and he grinds forward on instinct, watches those eyes widen and feels that hot breath stutter. Suddenly they’ve found a whole new rhythm, grinding and panting against each other and Bucky fucking loves this. Loves it, loves it, loves it, and maybe they should go. Somewhere else, anywhere else.

He makes eye contact with Steve and can tell he’s thinking the same thing even before he stutters out, “We should - do you want to -”

Bucky isn’t really listening anymore, he’s grabbing Steve’s belt loops and rolling his hips, and his eyes drop to Steve’s lips that are still trying to make words and he thinks wait, wait, just wait - but he can’t remember why. Why wait? He can’t remember the last time he had this much fun, this kind of fun, his veins are full of electricity and his best friend is the best, maybe that’s why they call it that, and maybe they can do this forever and maybe Bucky wants to. So instead of listening, to Steve or to himself, he’s nodding and they pull and push each other off the dance floor and out of the club.

They probably pass their friends on the way out, but just in case, Bucky pulls out his phone and sends a text to the group chat that’s probably more typos than words. He’s way too distracted to care, though.

The cab ride does nothing to sober them up. If anything it’s worse, trapped so close to Steve in the dark backseat but trying to keep it together for the sake of the cabbie. By the time they make it to their building, Bucky thinks he feels actual sparks against his skin every time Steve looks at him.

They somehow manage to stay touching each other the entire time they’re scrambling up the stairs, and when they get to their door Steve plasters himself to Bucky’s back while Bucky fumbles with his keys. Steve’s hands wander under Bucky’s shirt, brushing his waistband, and Bucky swears when he thinks he feels lips at the back of his neck, and finally he gets the fucking door open.

And then they’re inside and their lips are together and fingers and grabbing and pulling at everything in reach before they even manage to get the door closed.

 

* * *

 

Awareness comes slowly, one bit at a time. The very first thing Bucky’s conscious of is the worst cotton mouth feeling he’s had in years, and when he scrunches up his face at the uncomfortable dryness he’s hit with a pounding in his head that makes him wish he was still unconscious. Next he discovers the terrible thing his stomach is doing, which he can’t even fully identify because thinking about it makes it worse. He cracks an eye open and almost startles when he sees that he’s not in his room, until he notices that he’s still somewhere familiar. He’s in Steve’s room? And there it is, that’s the fucking kicker that snaps the rest of it into place, gets his brain with the program and running at a speed that his head really doesn’t appreciate.

He’s in Steve’s room because it’s closer to the door in the apartment they share. And he’s starting to remember that they were very impatient last night.

Last night. Christ.

He’s in Steve’s room, in Steve’s bed. He’s naked, and he’s sore in a way he honestly fucking missed, and there’s a body radiating heat behind him.

Last fucking night.

Bucky rolls over slowly, much to the displeasure of his entire damn body, and sees the broad span of Steve’s naked back.

He’s trying to figure out which would be weirder, waiting around in bed for Steve to wake up or bailing while he’s asleep, and if his hangover will even let him bail, when Steve rolls over and curls against Bucky’s side. His forehead is pressed to Bucky’s shoulder, he’s got an arm and a leg thrown over Bucky’s body, and Bucky knows he’s already in enough trouble here but it’s so cute that he stops panicking for a second to be completely enamored with his best friend.

“Buck,” Steve mumbles against the arm he has hostage. His best friend who is awake apparently, which at least solves Bucky’s stay-or-leave dilemma.

Suddenly it’s hard to find his nerves again. Bucky has known Steve for most of his life, and while they’ve never exactly been here, they’ll figure it out - they’ve been through worse and weirder shit than this, probably. So, just like he’s been doing since he was eight, Bucky follows Steve’s lead.

“Hey, Stevie.”

“You’re comfortable.”

“Thanks, Stevie.”

“What the hell happened last night.”

Bucky pokes an embarrassingly huge hickey on Steve’s collarbone, and Steve mumbles incoherently into his shoulder.

“Give you one guess.”

A bright blue eye opens and peeks up at him. “This is gonna be weird, isn’t it.”

He’s blushing slightly, and Bucky can’t help his grin. He shrugs slightly, and Steve thumps his hand against Bucky’s chest in discouragement.

“Ow. Don’t do that.”

“Sorry. How are you feeling?”

“Like death, mostly. You?”

“Pretty much the same.” Then, just to make Steve blush again, “And I’ve got this weird soreness in my lower back and thighs…”

Steve’s eye snaps shut again and he groans lowly, turning his face further into the mattress to try to hide his growing blush. It fails spectacularly, and Bucky is so happy he’s fucking baffled.

“Pretty sure you asked for it, pal,” Steve says into the sheets, because he’s always been able to dish it right back, even when he’s embarrassed to hell.

And, if Bucky is remembering right, he’s not wrong. And Christ, had Steve given it to him. Popping a boner right now would probably be super weird, but so is literally everything about this, so Bucky’s not overly worried.

Steve doesn’t seem to be either, because after a minute of silence he says, “Can I say something that’s going to make this even weirder?”

So Bucky says, “yeah, shoot,” because at this point why not commit.

“… I used to think about this.”

Which is… not at all what Bucky was expecting. Not just right now, but ever. All at once his nerves are back, and for the first time all morning he’s suddenly truly tense. There’s absolutely no way that Steve doesn’t feel that, but Bucky doesn’t know what to do about it.

“Just, y’know, in the interest of honesty.” Steve sounds awkward, maybe even ashamed, and he’s trying to move away but all of that is so far from what Bucky wants that without thinking he just grabs Steve’s hand and holds it against his chest, because he has no idea how else to even begin to address this.

The thing is that it’s not just a drunken fuck anymore, it can’t be now that Steve’s said that. Because now Bucky has to respond, which means he has to tell the truth, which means he has to say things that matter. About Steve. To Steve. The Barnes household was never an altogether nurturing one, at least not to Bucky, and in so many ways Steve was all Bucky had growing up. In too many ways, some would argue. Even when he got over all his shit about being gay, he was never willing to risk this friendship for anything, so he squashed his feelings until he could convince himself that he didn’t have any. He wants to laugh at himself for tricking himself so thoroughly that he could wind up in bed with Steve, but if Steve used to think about this, like Bucky did and then told himself he didn’t, then that changes pretty much everything. But he’s already decided that he’s following Steve’s lead here, so he really does try to keep doing that. He just needs a bit more to go off of.

“Sorry, it’s just. What?” He moves a little, just enough that he can see Steve’s face. He’s looking up at him all sheepish and determined, which sets Bucky’s heart pounding to match his head.

“I mean. When we were younger. And I guess always. I don’t know. I used to think about this. About you, like this.”

Bucky swallows and decides, fuck it. All in, right? He’s not a scared kid anymore and this definitely doesn’t feel like rejection. “Me too.”

Steve’s breath hitches, but because he’s a punk he says, “You used to think about you like this?”

Bucky laughs and only refrains from hitting Steve because his stupid head is stupid hungover, and Bucky is nice like that. “Shuddup. I don’t know, it was hard back then.”

“I know,” Steve says softly, because he does, and when he starts tracing gentle patterns on Bucky’s chest Bucky thinks yep, okay, this is it, time to man the hell up Barnes.

“I thought it was a proximity thing when we were younger, and then you were the only person in my corner telling me not to hate myself in high school and I told myself it was gratitude. And then I thought I just grew out of it or something. Jesus, I think I’ve been pretty gone on you for a pretty fucking long time Stevie. Who knew, huh?”

He’s reasonably sure he’s got the dopiest look on his face after that, but it’s fine because Steve is easily matching it.

“So you don’t fall into bed with all of your friends after that much tequila, then?” He teases, so Bucky winks at him, huge and dumb, and it makes Steve laugh.

“Just the super hot ones.”

“Bucky Barnes, you old romantic.”

Bucky ugly snorts, which hurts his head, and Steve crowds closer, which very much does not.

“I’m not going to kiss you because my mouth feels fucking gross,” he tells Steve, “but if we go back to sleep now and I wake up feeling somewhat more human later, and I brush my teeth, could I kiss you then?”

Steve pretends to look put upon, but he’s practically glowing. He also looks like an absolute disaster, his hair is a twisted mess and his skin looks awful, splotchy and red some places, sallow and washed out others, and particularly gray around his eyes. Bucky thinks that if he can look at Steve like this and honestly call him glowing then he’s the stupidest son of a bitch alive for never noticing how he still feels about this punk, but he’ll deal with that later.

Right now, Steve’s saying, “I guess I could suffer through that,” and Bucky is wrapping an arm around those huge shoulders and they’re pressing as close as they can.

Steve chuckles when he feels Bucky’s half hard cock against his thigh because he’s a stupid smug bastard, so Bucky flicks his ear because that’s the treatment that stupid smug bastards deserve.

“You smell gross,” Steve tells him. And then, “I’m pretty gone on you too, though.”

Bucky grins, pushes that smile against Steve’s temple, and they sleep.


End file.
